Stray
by ForeverMATT
Summary: In a cold world that had branded him a lost cause, he wanted little more than a chance to feel loved, but he'd settle for anything he could get.


**Title: **Stray

**Summary: **In a cold world that had branded him a lost cause, he wanted little more than a chance to feel loved, but he'd settle for anything he could get.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own DN.

**Author's Note: **Well, here we go. Some fairly interesting... stuffs bred from half-baked ideas.  
-Also, it should be noted that I don't like working with female characters because it is out of my comfort zone, but I did my best.

**WARNING: Content may be disturbing. Brief hetero-sexual content. AdultxChild intimacy. Child prostitution.**

…

* * *

The smell of putrid gore from her menstrual-filled pussy assaulted his nose as he pressed his face deep into the folds of her lady-bits. His cheeks scratched against her her scraggly and untamed bitch-mane as his tongue dipped in and out. Partly-clotted blood met his tongue as he dug deep, tongue ducking in and scooping out her essence. He pressed his hands to her robust thighs, spreading her legs and pressing his face deeper, feeling her warm flesh overlap his own boyish features as he ate her out, sloppy and inexperienced, he dug his fingertips into her flesh and did his best to please the woman who hovered over him.

He supposed he must've been doing something right as she verbally responded with high praise. "Oh, yes! Bitch-boy, yes! Ah, so good! My pussy's so sensitive! Be a good little muffin-muncher and fuck me with that tongue!" Then she grabbed and pulled at his oily and unkempt hair, pushing him so close that the tip of his nose buried into her lower lips as well.

Breathing became a struggle and he forced himself away, eyes wide and face smeared in blood, giving him a clown's smile.

The woman's face was flushed, her blouse unbuttoned, revealing a set of perky silicone breasts that heaved with her harsh respiration but were otherwise stationary. "Why'd you stop, little Bitch-boy?"

The redhead licked his lips -a nervous habit he'd developed- and tried not to think about the taste that so fully seized his mouth. "I-I needed to take a break," he said weakly, eyes downcast, knowing better than to make direct contact.

The woman released a sound of distaste and abhor. "You're almost done, just play with my clit a bit longer."

The boy looked at her with a puzzled expression before mumbling something under his breath, only to be thunked upside the head.

"Speak up, I'm not paying you to mumble like a little troll!"

Sighing, he repeated a bit louder: "I don't know what a _clit_ is, ma'am."

And the woman stared at him for a long moment. "You _don't_? Really? Isn't that precious?!" She laughed softly before petting the boy on the head. "Am I your first?"

"Sorta," the boy mumbled, lowering his head in shame.

But the woman only smiled widely and cupped his cheek, angling his face toward hers and saying: "Look at me, Bitch-boy."

And he did. His eyes met hers for the first time, and he studied her intensely. Her blonde, beautiful hair, her big blue eyes, prominent cheeks and pouty lips. She was beautiful.

"Call me Mama," the woman said, holding the boy's gaze.

The look this woman gave him as she continued to touch his cheek, it was the closest thing to a _loving_ expression he'd ever seen, and it brought tears to his eyes. "O-Okay, Mama," he said meekly.

The woman - 'Mama' -then lifted the hem of her skirt and spat on it before bringing it to the redhead's face and beginning to wipe the menstrual blood from his cheeks and chin. "We'll get you all cleaned up like a proper young man. You'd like that, wouldn't you? -What's your name again?" She added the question as an afterthought, her brows knitting together in a show of genuine curiosity.

Without a second thought, the redhead answered: "Bitch-boy," only to receive a reproving look. After that, he jerked his head from her kind touch and looked down.

"That's not a name. If you do not have a name, I'll give you one." Saying this, the woman began to button her blouse and look him over.

Red unkempt hair that was just getting long enough to be shaggy Green eyes the begged for an innocence that the world had already taken from him. Pale skin that could make even Snow White jealous. And a pattern of freckles that dotted his thin face. Every bit of him looked frail and small, possibly malnourished.

"I'll come up with a name for you. For now, why don't you come inside with me and we'll get you cleaned up?" She didn't wait for an answer. She simply grabbed his hand and dragged him along. Around the street corner and past a crooked STOP sign. Then, into an old building with a rotted exterior and boarded windows. "Home, sweet home," she said lightly, gesturing to a large mass of decay with flickering lights and a noticeable roach population. "It's not much, but it's home, kid," she said, pointing her finger in one direction and adding: "Bathroom fixtures don't work, but you can wash up in the kitchen sink. Get washed up and I'll get you something to eat."

"Y-Yes, Mama," the redhead said uncertainly, cautiously walking to the kitchen and taking in his surroundings along the way.

Moments later, the blonde woman entered the kitchen as well, juggling in her grasp a brush, a pair of scissors, a bottle of soap and a wash cloth. Dumping said objects onto the faux-granite counter top, she put a stopper in the sink's drain and turned the water on, filling it up. "Strip down and I'll take care of you," she said

The boy took a deep breath and looked down at his filthy bare feet, curling his toes. Then he turned to face away from the woman and carefully removed his shirt before unbuttoning his pants, his breath hitching nervously as he did. Once he stripped down to his old stained briefs, he held his hands over his private region and wondered if he should strip his last article of clothing.

'Mama' looked him over and kept silent at the sight that greeted her, though her insides ached despairingly at the sheer amount of him that was marred in bruises; she could guess this boy's quality of life, and she shouldn't have been surprised, but the reality of the situation hit her harder than she ever could have imagined.

"I'm going to call you Matt," she said after a minute or so. "It's a nice name. And a nice boy like you deserves a nice name."

The redhead, unofficially dubbed Matt, said nothing, simply squeezed his knees together uncomfortably, afraid of what Mama might think of him if he showed any less modesty.

The woman patted her hand on the counter and said: "Up, up."

And without thought or question, Matt approached and hopped up onto the counter adjacent to the water-filled basin, seating himself with his bony legs dangling over the side.

"Good boy," the woman praised, grabbing the wash cloth and dipping it into the water before bringing it to Matt's face.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shy away, but upon feeling such a warm and gentle touch, he eased up a little. He eased up even more when the telltale scent of lavender soap greeted him and he felt that now-soapy cloth rubbing against his tender neck and shoulders and down his back. He could feel his filth being washed away, and he relaxed to the point of allowing a small smile to cross his face.

"You look so sweet when you smile, Matt," she said, voice softer than Matt had ever imagined a voice could be. "Can I ask you a question?" When the boy's response was nonexistent, she asked anyways. "Why were you working the street corner? Why are you going by such a horrible name as Bitch-boy?" As she asked, she could feel be boy's body stiffen in discomfort. "You don't have to answer, Matt. I was just wondering... if you didn't have a home to go back to, maybe I could keep you."

The boy didn't reply; he just stayed with his muscles tensed and his eyes closed as the blonde woman washed and rinsed his body before giving his hair the same treatment. Wash, lather, rinse, repeat.

Once he was clean, she grabbed a dingy old hand towel from a rack and tousled his hair dry before patting his body down, drying it as well as she could with the little fabric. Then she caressed his cheek before grabbing a brush and running it through his hair. Lastly, she exchanged the brush for a pair of silver scissors and trimmed his hair into something more proper for a young boy.

"Now, if only we had some nice new clothes for you," she said with a smile, looking him over and trying not to count the ugly blue and purple marks that a bath couldn't take away.

Matt said nothing, though he shivered as a chill began to set in.

"Hey, Matt? Just tell me, do you have a home? If not, you can stay here... at least for the night. I don't have a bed, and the couch isn't in good condition, but I have blankets and an electric heater... And I did offer you something to eat, so you can have supper with me."

Silence loomed after the woman spoke. She didn't know what else to say as she awaited an answer, and the redhead didn't seem to know how to answer her query. Then, after an immeasurable amount of time, he simply said "No."

"_No_, what?" she asked, half-forgetting the question, having given up on receiving an answer.

Taking a slow deep breath, Matt said "No, I don't have a home." His voice was laced with a pain and vulnerability no kid should have.

"Matt, how old are you?"

Again, the redhead took his time answering. "T-Ten, but I've been on my own for a few months now. Since-" trailing off, he counted on his fingers, mouthing silent words- "since March."

The woman looked at him with a careful expression before saying "Matt, it's mid-October."

No further conversation was exchanged, and the woman stepped away to loot around for something edible, coming back to the redhead with a bag of chips and a few slices of bread.

"Eat," she said, setting the food beside the redhead and setting to work at cleaning draining the muddy water from the sink and cleaning up the cut hair.

Slowly beginning to nibble at a piece of bread, Matt watched her in silence and fascination. His mouth full of partly-chewed bread, he mumbled "Never seen someone clean before."

Mama stilled a moment before ringing out the wash cloth and setting it aside. "The place may be a dump, but there's no reason to let it get filthier than it is."

Again, conversation came to a standstill.

Matt ate three whole slices of bread before opening the bag of chips. He pressed his nose into the opened bag and inhaled, pulling away with a grimace. "Smells sour," he grumbled.

"It's Salt and Vinegar," she said with a laugh. "It's good. Trust me." Grabbing a broom and running it across a small expansion of the floor, she placed it in a corner and reached into the cupboard to grab a cup. She filled it with tap water and set it beside the boy. "It might be too salty for you. The water will help with that."

Plucking a chip from the bag and feeling the gritty texture of the salt with his fingers, he brought it to his awaiting mouth and bit down, chewing it up and swallowing before deciding to eat another. And another. And after several chips, he decided to take a drink of water, if only to please the woman who watched him with an almost mothering gaze.

"You like it?" She asked.

He nodded before wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. "Yes, thank you, Mama. Is there any way I can repay your kindness? I can eat you out again, if you want. You can show me what a clit is."

"No, good God, no," she interjected, waving her hands around in a wild and ambiguous gesture. "I only wanted to pay you for your services because it was dark and I thought you were a bit older and... well... I didn't realize... -Oh, God, I didn't realize you were just a boy. I couldn't just _use_ you- How many people have...-" she let her words trail off, her mind not even quite sure how to finish the question.

She suddenly wondered just how many people had their filthy mitts on this poor child. How many people have touched him or made him touch them? Was the ten year old even a virgin anymore?

Then "don't do that," the boy's voice suddenly ripped through her thoughts. "Don't stand there and think that anyone forced me to do anything. Don't pity me."

"Matt, you're a very brave and very smart boy. Why aren't you in school?"

"Because I'm smart, like you said. Now, why aren't you married?" His answer was spiteful, as was the follow-up question, and the dare in his eyes gave a glimpse to just how jaded he could be.

The question accompanied with the intent and expression caught Mama off guard and she flapped her mouth indignantly before pointing a finger and demanding "G-Go to your room."

"I don't have a room. I don't live here."'

"You do now. You're grounded. Go. The bathroom will be your room. Sleep in the tub. Go. Now." She waved her finger in the direction of the bathroom and stomped her foot to show that she meant business.

Matt just gawked at her awkwardly. "You can't tell me what to do. You're not my mom!"

"And you don't have a mom!" she rebounded with exasperation, insides boiling at the turn of events. In her mind, she'd been kind to this unfortunate child, and he was sassing her in ways she thought unfair. Because, truth be told, she had a husband, but the domestication turned into something akin to a nightmare she didn't wish to relive. This child couldn't have known, but the wound had been scraped open, and this woman was hurt.

By the time she got her bearings together, the redhead had his knees drawn to his chest and was hiding his face against his too-thin legs. "M'sorrry, Mama. I won't upset you again," he whispered, voice muffled against his own battered flesh.

"No, no, Matt, it's okay," she said apologetically, unsure of what else to do. "Lets just get you to bed. We'll figure things out in the morning." Not waiting for an answer, she scooped him up into her arms and carried his near-weightless body to the bathroom, placing him in the tub and draping a towel over him like a blanket. "I'll be just down the hall if you need me. But, please try to rest." With that, she kissed his forehead and wiped a thumb under his eye, clearing away a lone tear before walking away.

All alone, his bare back against the cold porcelain of the tub, the redhead curled up beneath the towel and cried, hard. Before long, he was sobbing his heart out. His tears flowed, streaming, making a quivering trail from his eyes to his cheek to the tub to the drain.

The more he cried, the less he felt. The less he felt, the more he realized that he didn't feel bad. In time, he wasn't crying anymore. He felt empty, drained, and hollow, as if shedding all those tears freed him from all the things he'd felt prior.

He wasn't happy. He wasn't sad. He wasn't anything. He wasn't even the little Bitch-boy that was late in getting back to his pimp. He was just Matt, a boy curled up in Mama's tub, waiting to sleep, or die, or whatever would come his way.

...

Morning came and the boy awoke the feel of warm lips on his forehead.

"Rise and shine, Matt," she said cheerfully, grabbing his hand and yanking him up into an unsteady standing position. "I've got some clothes for you. They'll be a little big, but they'll have to do." With that, she tossed an old shirt and pair of sweat pants at him and instructed him to get dressed. "I'm late for work, but breakfast is on the table. I'll be back on my lunch hour, and I'll be home in the evening. Be a good boy." After vocalizing her agenda, she cupped Matt's cheek and gave him a soft kiss on the lips before pulling away. "Be good for Mama. I'll see you in a few hours. If you have to potty, use the coffee can out back; the bathroom fixtures don't work."

Still stricken with apathy from his session of crying, Matt watched her run her fingers through her hair and vainly check her reflection in a cracked mirror.

"Mama's in the music industry, y'know." She said proudly. "I sing, I dance, and I shake my ass a bit. Doesn't pay as much as you'd think because I don't work night's anymore. Singing and dancing isn't part of the job either. I just do that when business is slow. I suppose I'm just a topless waitress." As she said that, she laughed light-heartedly, unashamed of her profession. "It puts food in the cupboards, and for as long as you stay here, it'll put clothes on your back. -Gotta go, babe. Mama loves you."

Still looking the the mirror, the blonde jumped up and down a few times and watched as her large bra-less breasts stayed in place despite her movements; then she shrugged and walked out, leaving the redhead behind and then leaving the rundown shack she called a home.

Not sure what to think, and unable to process any emotions, Matt slipped on the sweat pants and the shirt that read _HOOTERS_ -the O's of the word were placed directly over his nipples, and if he wasn't feeling so tired and empty, he might have been embarrassed.

Once dressed, he sluggishly made his way to the kitchen, finding a bit of Corn Flakes in a plastic blue bowl that had miscellaneous stains on the side. Next to the bowl was a carton of milk, but no spoon. Sighing -not for any reason other than having something to do with the excess oxygen he'd inhaled- he poured a bit of milk and dipped his fingers into the bowl, scooping wet morsels into his mouth at leisure. He ate every last bit of cereal and drank the milk before washing his hands in the sink and seating himself on a dingy old couch.

Unsure of what else to do, he didn't do anything.

Like promised, Mama came home for lunch and brought him hot wings and soda. She watched him eat and took it upon herself to personally wipe his mouth off with a napkin. Then she promised to be home before supper, and she left again.

Then, once again, Matt was left alone. He took it upon himself to nap on the couch as he waited.

He awoke to the sound of a door opening and closing.

He sat up groggily, expecting to see the blonde woman coming in with food and the intent to care for him, but it was too early for supper and the person that had come in was not Mama.

"Bitch-boy, let's go. Time to go home."

The boy made no effort to go.

"Bitch-boy, if you don't listen, I'll grab you by your pretty red hair and drag you out. Besides, I've got a new client for you. I know how you like a good cock just as much as I like a fat wallet. C'mon, it'll be good for you."

The redhead shook his head slowly in a nervous gesture of defiance, wrapping his arms around himself like a security blanket. "No, sir. My name's Matt. And I don't wanna go."

In an instant, a jeweled cane came crashing against his arm, causing him to bite his lip in refusal to make a sound. "Listen here, little bitch. I took you in when no one else would. You respect me. You owe me. You lost your name the moment you agreed to be my ho."

That cane crashed down again and again, hitting the redhead's arms and ribs, and even cracking him on the head once or twice, though he shielded himself as much as he could.

"Let's go, Bitch-boy. Keep your head down. I don't want to look at your whore-face."

Sighing, Matt nodded and mumbled a soft "yes, sir," before getting up and following behind the older man.

"Did Blondie pay you, Bitch-boy?"

"Sorta, but not with money," Matt grumbled quietly, eyes cast down toward his feet.

"You'll make up for the lost money with the next client."

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**/Questions? Comments? Ideas? Review./**


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